Hard Love and No Shame
by SkullCracked
Summary: They are so in love, it's as much cavity-inducing sweet as it is filthy hot. Smutty, smutty drabble, no plot.


AN: I do not own Soul Eater, its characters, world, etc. They are the sole property of their rightful and wonderful owner.

Criticisms and reviews are always welcome, as they will help me learn (whether I should ever do this again or not).

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That's just the way their natures are. Where Maka Albarn was hard love, avid lust and no shame in sight, Soul Eater was fervid need, desperate to please, to perform, to give, with no shame of his own but more from not caring what he exposed to his Meister, than for the fact that he chose to expose it at all.

He could always tell when she needed him, wanted him. It was a pull on his soul, a very particular twist, almost tangy without the ability to taste the tang. He suspected that subconsciously she was releasing a scent that his hyperawareness of her was honing in on as well, as he'd never once misread a signal since they'd made it past their clumsy, experimental, new to sex and each other phase. Long had been the comfort level they'd reached where touching was a regular occurance. Hugs, hand-holding, touching sides, backs, thighs, shoulders, necks and hair in the privacy of their apartment, all had been a needed aspect of their partnership - reaffirmations of the other's well-being and continued attachment to each other.

Long had it escalated, without spoken word or admonishment, into nuzzles, small kisses (first hair, then cheeks, then necks, then lips and eyelids), gentle and shy strokes along hips and ribs. Eventually, hormones and urges won out, and the friendly, comfortable touching turned hotter, into relief and need and want, eagerness and fretting and awkward Is this ok?

Yes! Don't stop!

Soul could be a gentleman down to the marrow of his bones, and Maka was a woman utterly committed to major independance. She inspired his mind, body and soul to such awe that he was loathe to be anything but devoted to her, her voice, her command, her desire, her _soul_. He sparked such fire in her blood, beautiful tensions in her lower belly, his dangerous and barely-tamed soul challenging her own at every turn, even as his death-defying loyalty burned her from the inside out, that she was overwhelmed often with her faith and love for this man.

They were most definately Demon Weapon and Technician, as they'd certainly gone about the whole business of domestic life together in a jumbled, half backward, practically taboo tableàu of barrier-overstepping bedlam since the very beginning.

She found the worst ways to tease him, to rile him to such sexual frenzy he was wont to contain himself until he could hear the command from her own voice, granting or denying whatever permission she chose. When she wore his clothes on laundry day his desire was a slow, low burn, the possessive, protective, devoted need to watch her, and hold her, and give her skin soft, gentle kisses and trail her around the apartment like the lost fucking hell-hound puppy he was only too smitten not to be.

When she claimed a Death City heatwave afternoon made it impossible to wear proper clothes, and instead drove him mad with high-cut bikini briefs and the laciest, sheerest bra she owned, he ignored the drool that would not be contained at such sights and pushed her into the counters in the kitchen, the walls, onto the couch, or the floor if he missed, and took filthy liberties over her scantily clad skin with a long tongue, limber fingers, and singeing, dirty words.

When he lazed on the couch, legs sprawled open and boxer-briefs riding up his thighs, unbelted robe exposing his well-healed scar and a snow white happy trail, and his chronic-insomnia lined face at peace with the world, Maka could never contain the glowing ember in her soul as she nuzzled into his lap to softly, languidly kiss down his stubbled jaw and neck until he woke up holding her.

When they got home from wherever they'd been, and she'd been pressed into his lithe, firm back on his wonderful, rumbling, gutteral motorcycle - so like his voice - and he still smelled like the outside, and leather, and him, it made her too wet and hot to bear, much less to walk the two yards to either bedroom. When she got that way, the glinting of his usually drooping deep red eyes and the startled, melting, desperate look that would overcome him as she pushed him to his knees to kiss him from a height while she growled dirty desires of where she wanted him to put his hands, his fingers, his mouth, _that hot, hard cock,_ always gave her such a rush that it was too addictive for words.

It was one of these afternoons that had resulted in one of their most recent couplings, a rather rough, loud and probably silly affair, scattering furniture and overturning their coffee table like rediculous, panting teenagers. He'd known it was coming since halfway home, feeling her flush against his back on his bike, thighs tight and hard around his hips, as she pressed her lips hotly into his ear to tell him all the things she loved about him and his motorcycle. He was hard before they'd even gotten to their street, and the vibrations of his loud engine underneath him didn't hinder the oozing pre-cum he knew would already be staining his pants.

She had him against the door, her mouth devouring his own, faster than he could realize they'd even made it into the building, much less their apartment. She tore his jacket from him, loathe to lose it but even more unwilling that he should remain dressed in any capacity, working his pants open and down his hips, shoving her hands down his underwear as she went. He helped her off with her own coat, her shirt, her skirt, fingers too distracted snaking beneath the sides of her panties for him to remember they needed to join their brethren on the floor.

She solved his brainlessness for him when she pushed off his chest, kicking her boots to the wall and finding a breathless, powerful voice to command the rest of his clothes off. She had panties and bra off before he could even look up from his dazed task and then she was on him again, hot, wet mouth insistant over his own, licking his wet lips and daring his sharp teeth to play. Her hand was around his length again, squeezing from base to head the way he liked, her other hand tenderly and firmly cupping and tugging and rolling his warm balls with loving familiarity.

Ever vocal even if he was never coherent, he moaned into her mouth, growling lowly and pressing his bare chest tight against her wonderful, warm, soft little breasts, feeling her nipples hard on his flushed skin. His own were hard as well, sensitive to being rubbed against her and his arms wrapped desperately around her sides, long enough to give him all of her in his embrace as his hands sought the opposing sides of her hips and the curve under her supple little ass. She brought her hands out from being crushed between them, pressing hard into him, his dick trapped against her stomach, and she shifted her torso to make sure he got plenty of friction, her own arms wrapping one around his lithely muscled shoulders and the other squeezing hard on his ass, Meister-strong fingers digging in exquisitely.

They were already sweaty, heaving breaths and stuttering heartbeats, falling into a loved and hard-won training regimen they both got euphorically better at each time. She couldn't remember how they got on the couch, or managed to stay on it, but she was beneath him and he was working those amazing, strong, pianist fingers into her folds and she was moaning, biting his neck, and he chuffed before he moved away to lick and bite from her shoulder down to her breasts, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking and coiling that horribly amazing tongue over her too-hot skin.

She writhed with purpose against his hand, his palm pressing wet and hard into her clit as his fingers curled deep and tight against that little spot inside that sent super novas through her eyelids, and then she didn't want those wonderful digits anymore, she wanted something bigger and fuller and she _needed his cock inside her, now_!

Soul didn't need to be told twice (but he'd listen to her strong voice all day) and he pulled his soaking fingers from her tight depths and immediately brought them to his mouth as he shifted his hips to angle himself at her core, pressing the head of his dick languidly into the wet, hot skin of her inner lips. He let himself slide against her as he worked her taste and smell from his fingers, Maka's green eyes burning as she watched his horribly lewd display with open lewdness of her own. He loved eating her out, and he never let an opportunity pass where he could taste her, and she loved how much he loved it. She was pretty fond of blowing him when the mood struck, although at this moment his display was doing nothing to aide the clenching, soaked need in her pussy.

She tangled her fingers into his thick hair, pulling gently, and reached down to direct his cock into her depths herself, moaning his name as he groaned desperately and let his head fall to her pert breasts again, sucking and licking and biting in reverence. Her legs were tight around his hips and she forced his face (sadly) out of her chest to wrap her arms tightly around his shoulders for leverage, thrusting herself against him, oh and his dick just felt so good, and so hot, and so full inside her she could barely see straight as she watched the unabashed pleasure he wore on his own face. He tried to keep up with her thrusts, pumping as rythmically as he could, fingers digging into her everywhere at once, but she was too far ahead of him, too quick and powerful with insanely limber and hardcore ab muscles to rip her pleasure from him faster than he could give it.

Maka had no qualms being underneath him, being the bottom had some amazing perks of its own, but she was desperately aroused and he just couldn't get leverage for his legs on the couch, so she forced them into an upright and partially angled position, nearly over his lap, where she could hold his body and the back of the couch and get him deeper and harder than he could've done himself. When she pulled him into her control, the new depth he hit and her wanton moans of his name and _fuck, yes, so good, Soul Eater harder!_ were more than he could help with, and all he could do was hold on for the ride and pump into her for all he was worth.

He only prayed to every Deity he could barely remember the names of - including Death Himself - that he was worth enough for what she was commanding him, begging him, _moaning_ for him to put into her. She was wiry, slick and lithe, muscle on muscle, had been bruised by so many battles, could more than easily handle bruising from him. And in his lust he could do it, might be close to doing it, like he was close to doing something else, the coiling, roiling, _threshing_ in his lower abdomen and tightening in his sac, the stiffening that was impossibly harder than anything he's ever been - and he wonders, not for the first time, if she'd make him harder still the next time - and then she's screaming his name and she's tighter and hotter on him than he thought she could go, and he can feel her wetness down to his balls, and he's desperately trying to breathe as that coil finally snaps and he's gone, vision black and orgasm probably the most intense yet.

In a display that Maka can only attribute to Soul's ever heightened protective instincts, she notes with diminishing consciousness how his leg kicks out to topple the coffee table in front of the couch before both lovers topple to the floor, spent and breathless and spotty-visioned seconds from passing out. She assumes she must've passed out, because she comes back to herself at some point later, cold from dried sweat and soaked with cooling evidence of sex between quivering legs, and is vaguely aware that Soul is no better beneath her, rolling his head on the floor and looking as if he was still fighting for consciousness of his own.

Her breathing still isn't quite even yet, and she rubs her fingers through his sweaty hair, kissing and licking over his mouth and jaw and holding him as she waits for him to come back from the galaxy they'd sent each other to. He calls her name roughly, though quietly, reverent and devoted and so satisfied it could make her teeth rot, and she grins down to him, confident and dedicated and utterly satiated beyond shameless. His half-lidded garnet eyes take in her glowing features, eyes turned emerald with fulfillment, and they both feel the melding of their souls in the afterglow, the love that flows too deep for words or flesh to ever fully convey.

But hell if it ain't the best way to try.


End file.
